


a certain slant of light

by snowlighters



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Strangers to Lovers, even when there is no money involved kuroo and kenma are capitalists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlighters/pseuds/snowlighters
Summary: akaashi feels his heart stop for a second; the scene is transfixing, and the air around them humid with feeling. time stands still and then the lights merge into one, shapes and sparks and colors blending into a ball of things akaashi loves, glowing violet-carnation-pink. she’s warm, but still and quiet; different from the one he has floating somewhere around the house, the place a playground of magic.akaashi is an author in need of help. bokuto is a witch who sells him a little light.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 68
Kudos: 81
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	1. gleaming

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from an emily dickinson's poem. this fic has nothing to do with the original piece but the title felt really fitting to my story ♡ 
> 
> this is for day eight of bokuaka week, with the prompt of magic (the second part is almost finished and coming soon!). this fic is completely inspired by my muse, anne michaels, my favorite novelist and poet. darling i am all yours. 
> 
> last but not least, i would like to thank [maya](https://twitter.com/screm_today), who reviewed this entire piece from head to toe and told me when characters or things felt off. she helped in so many ways and is basically the reason this isn't me keysmashing into the void.

when akaashi gets home from his book editor's apartment, the last thing he expects to find in front of his house is a magic cottage.

these places are rare, almost mystic. they’re the kind of childhood stories your parents tell when you’re growing up: the big foot, atlantis, stable income jobs. magic moving stores.

be a good person and need it enough, and one will appear wherever you are, granting a wish— maybe two, if the witch living there deems it necessary.

because these places are, at least for akaashi, just lullabies for children to fall asleep to, he is immediately skeptical. but what else can it be? it’s a medieval house, built with butterscotch coloured bricks and hanging lavender flowers, smelling like fresh pastries and warm coffee. it’s a house that wasn't there when he left home a couple of hours before.

so yeah. it has to be a magic cottage.

he wants to ignore it and go home, take a hot shower, sleep in his bed, pine under his blankets with a bowl of ice cream and a cup of coffee, until he is well enough to write again. but akaashi feels weirdly drawn to it too. there’s something about it that’s warm and golden calling to him - it’s like his heart has other plans, urging his feet to take him there without him even thinking about it.

he takes one, two, three steps away from his house, crossing the street. on the way, akaashi adjusts the bag where his rejected manuscript is peeking out, and despite keeping all the pages inside, spills a little bit of his broken heart over the sidewalk.

when he gets in front of the house, akaashi starts feeling a faint buzz under his skin. it’s a little bit of a childhood fantasy, finding something that’s a secret. he’s nervous for sure, but also excited. so he goes to the front, reads the hanging ‘open’ sign and opens the door, hearing the sound of twinkly bells announcing his arrival.

he takes the place in, a little bewildered. it is beautiful and absurd and it’s also a _mess_.

from where akaashi entered, he can see pieces of the kitchen and living room, old striped wallpapers barely shown: the walls are covered in vines, plants that take over and reach the ceiling. they spurt different kinds of flowers throughout their length, wolfsbane and jasmine and camomile, forget-me-nots and orchids and hydrangeas. just like the flowers, the wooden furniture is completely mismatched, a bunch of transparent containers resting all over them, blue and purple and orange bubbling inside. and also—

the jars.

there are the mason jars and they are _everywhere—_ floating in the air and sitting over tables, resting inside shelves and tucked into corners. half of them are labeled unusual things: sensations when you wake up in the morning, the smell of orange juice, stubbing your toe on a corner; and half of them are without any readable labels at all, just scribbly old tags. there are mimosas and delphiniums and lavender bouquets adorning them, flowers intertwined with the most random objects, amethysts and tourmalines on tiny pedestals and weird little— weird little _lights_ , that’s what they are, floating inside some of those floating jars, each of them with different colors and textures and shapes. if lights could have textures or shapes. akaashi wouldn’t know.

despite the messiness, the place is warm. it feels very familiar, in a way, with a faint smell of rain and sage and honey, things that akaashi associates with comfort and home. he wants to observe everything, take it all in, and his fingers - for the first time in months - itch for pen and paper.

it is a magic shop indeed, he thinks, wonder coating his body from head to toe.

but before he can do anything else - browse the store, call for someone, go away - a man appears in front of him, tall and handsome and broad shouldered. his hair is in a ridiculous black quiff, messily arranged and soft, and there are scratches on his right cheek, as if he just got back from an alley fight with a cat.

“hi, i’m kuroo, and this is tokyo’s store of wishes. what can i help you with?”

akaashi stares at him, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. he looks normal, just as normal as him, with light blue jeans, a red sweater and some ridiculous hair - probably the witch. this wasn’t what akaashi was expecting, and it takes him by surprise.

“my name is akaashi. and—”

“oh.” kuroo’s mouth assumes a surprised shape. “you are a human. it’s been a while since we’ve had one. i’m sorry— here, come to the living room. have a seat.” he points to the sofa, which has a pile of books. akaashi wedges himself in between them, careful not to drop or touch anything. “sorry for the mess. is this your first time with magic, akaashi? do you know how the store works?”

“i… can’t say i do, sorry. i’ve heard the stories as a kid, but o nly vague things. i didn’t think it was real.”

“it’s fine.” kuroo grins and sits down on the floor in front of akaashi. “actually, that’s much better. we hate it when people come and start demanding things without even knowing how it works. i prefer to explain from scratch. that way there won’t be any misunderstandings.”

“ok.” akaashi smiles, a little hesitant. the whole thing is a bit weird. the logical part of akaashi’s brain is telling him to run, thinking it's too convenient, too _easy_. but the childlike, imaginative part of it — the one that writes for a living, likes to make ice cream sandwiches for snacks and sometimes uses character socks for the hell of it — is telling him to listen.

it’s either a magic store or a murderer’s lair. as if on cue, a butterfly soars out of nowhere and turns into confetti right in front of him, and akaashi blinks once, twice, three times. it’s so absurd it snatches a giggle out of him.

he is going to take the risk.

“we sell things for fairies and witches. humans can’t normally see the house, but once in a while — every human week or so — the cottage feels a bit merciful and tries to help someone who really needs it, so it shakes off a bit of the concealment magic and it appears in front of you.”

“the cottage?”

“yeah, the cottage. she’s very sensitive— hates noise and dadaism, loves rain and poetry. that’s why i read for her on sundays.” a low, distorted noise echoes in the living room. suddenly the fireplace lights up, making the setting warmer. for a fleeting moment, akaashi thinks that that’s the house’s way of saying _thank you_ , but he shakes it off. “she’s a friend, very dear to us and the base of our magic, basically. if she doesn’t feel well, we don’t feel well, and vice versa. it’s like a symbiotic relationship.” akaashi nods, and kuroo continues. “so, uh, back to the explanation. you come with a problem. you need a little bit of confidence, perhaps a sprinkle of self love, and we give you a little light. depending on the situation, or what kind of problem it is, we assign different people for each person. bokuto is good with instinctual pure magic, so he gets pretty much all the humans. kenma and i are better at alchemy related things, so we tend to get more of the normal customers— witches.” akaashi blinks. “do you have any questions?”

well. akaashi has a few.

“what are the lights and how do they work? how are they supposed to make me solve a problem i have? also, how do i pay you?” he fiddles with his fingers, a bit nervous. “i’m a novelist. i don’t have that much money, and i can’t spend it on things i’m not sure will work.”

“well, human to answer your first question: it’s a bit like they show you the path, like a pretty spiritual guide. they don’t magically fix your life or anything. they show you how, but you do the work.“ he stops and ponders. “it’s not really complicated… but i don’t deal with them, so bokuto should be the one to explain it to you. and what was the last question again? the payment. yes. we don’t take money. but it depends on who is helping you. bokuto really likes happy memories or favorite sensations. kenma and i both prefer more material things, like your favorite mug or the stovepipe you like to cook.”

“so do i just give up the feelings or memories?” akaashi crosses his legs, trying to understand. his face is pensive, eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a thin line. it doesn’t seem like a good deal. “i can’t experience it anymore?”

“of course not!” kuroo sounds horrified. “of course you get to keep it. what kind of witches do you think we are?”

“sorry! sorry. ok, listen—” akaashi’s head is lightheaded, too much information to take in. “can i have a few days to think?”

it sounds too good to be true, akaashi thinks, the existence of a place where you get to be granted a wish and where your only payment is to share a memory. and it’s not even a wish, but something that’s possibly even better than that. wishes are good for the things you _want_. this little cottage that smells of fresh bread and new beginnings seems to be able to give him something he _needs_.

but even though he feels the magic inside, feels the buzz and the energy of the place under his skin, sees the floating lights and exploding butterflies, he still needs to think, mull it over a cup of coffee. look the place from his window. be logical about it.

“yes, of course. once the cottage shows itself to you, it will be there forever — or at least until what’s bothering you disappears.”

☆

akaashi is hell-bent on fixing his life without the help of a magic light, so he takes a couple of weeks to make up his mind.

he doesn’t get up from the desk by his window for hours. he makes it his mission to do so, to write thousands of words until his eyes burn looking at the screen. but at the end of the day all he has to show is a half chapter that reads like shit.

he thinks he knows what his problem is — lack of inspiration — but even though he’s already a seasoned writer, he feels this need to prove himself, to do as he always did.

he doesn’t need a muse, doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand and to tell him things are going to be okay. he’s a seasoned writer rewriting his seventh novel; his publisher and agent hate it, and he kind of hates it too.

because that’s the core of the problem, isn’t it? his words are dead.

like a weed growing in the city, every day the cottage stares back at him, headstrong and sweet, beautiful just outside of his window, and akaashi swears it talks to him without words, too. on a day he feels particularly bad, all the flowers in the garden seem to wither; on the day he has a really grim meeting with his agent — _the book is different from your previous works, akaashi. it’s sad and gray and detached, akaashi. they don’t want to publish it, akaashi_ — the lawn is a mess, like a hurricane just made that little space it’s playground. it stares at him right on his face, all his emotions, all while he tries to write and fails.

he doesn’t know what’s the last straw. one day he wakes up, sits to write and sees the lawn, and it looks so… colourless— all gray grass and leafless trees and brown-yellow bushes, no flowers to show, just this particular brand of sadness that you get after being still for so long.

akaashi feels the sadness in his bones, cold and piercing, and realises it’s him. he had known the house was mirroring how he was feeling, had more than an inkling, but it’s shocking to recognise himself in the bent curve of a particular branch, the hazy mist around the trees, the lack of colors in a garden.

so akaashi makes a decision; he finishes his cup of coffee, ties his shoes and crosses the street.

☆

akaashi doesn’t knock this time. he just opens the door and enters the house.

it looks weirdly similar, with the lights floating next to the ceiling, plants hanging from the walls and parts of the living room visible from the entry. he doesn’t know why he expected it to change; maybe because it looks so different from the outside, almost an entirely different house. it smells the same, too; the only thing that’s actually changed is that it’s a bit colder, a bit quieter. a bit sadder.

“hi, i’m kuroo, and this is— wait, you’re the human!” he smiles. “thank god you came back. the house was getting pretty moody lately, i think she really liked you. have you made up your mind?”

“the house— what?” kuroo opens his mouth, as if to begin explaining the entire thing, but akaashi wants to speak before he loses his nerve. ”nevermind. i want— i want one of the little lights, if possible.”

“that’s great.” kuroo smiles, and it seems genuine. “do you want to meet bokuto? he’s in his workshop. i can take you there.”

they walk through a maze of corridors, not bothering to make small talk. the house from the outside doesn’t seem to be big, which is a little puzzling because they need to walk for a couple of minutes to reach the destination. but it must be the magic; everything in the house seems to be magic, even the structure itself. if akaashi starts rationalizing and trying to make sense of everything in such a place, he might go nuts.

“here.” kuroo stops, gesturing to a closed door. “you don’t need to knock to enter, he already knows you’re coming.”

it sounds very ominous to akaashi, the idea of this powerful witch: someone who creates all these wish-granting lights and already knows there is a new person in the house, even before said person has announced their own presence. akaashi wonders how old he must be— but interrupts himself because he doesn’t want to piss off any powerful being by making him wait.

akaashi knocks and announces he is entering, voice pleasant and respectful. kuroo looks amused, but he lives with bokuto. he can be as disrespectful as he wants. akaashi is not taking any chances.

when he opens the door, the place takes his breath away.

akaashi can instantly feel the energy of the room under his skin; there’s something buzzy, frizzy, almost wavy in the air; something that doesn’t want to stay still. it’s something that charges his whole body and at the same time makes his limbs feel like liquid. it’s as if there’s electricity in the air, all of it being conducted by the mason jars and floating lights. if he thought there were a lot of them in the living room, there’s hundreds of them in the place he’s in. some are filled with crystals and flowers and others with nothing, some filled with mysterious looking liquids and others with random objects. it’s beautiful and charming and a little intimidating, but the most captivating thing about the place are the little lights— they are beautiful and delicate, some floating up in the air aimlessly and others inside closed mason jars.

and in the middle of them— bokuto.

his back is turned, but akaashi knows instantly that it’s him. there’s no one else in the room, of course, but there’s an aura surrounding bokuto that forces akaashi to look, drilling his eyes in like a sniper. it’s as if the static and power in the room comes from him, and it makes sense— if magic and witchcraft made sense, akaashi notes— since he’s supposedly this powerful and ethereal being.

akaashi observes him, shy and afraid of saying more; bokuto walks among the lights and they seem to float around him, peering close, as if they are living things that want his attention. bokuto touches one, two, three jars, lights them up with his touch, and akaashi can’t help but think that despite apparently being around his height, he looks big, in a way. if kuroo looks like a normal human, bokuto looks more sentient; someone that didn’t belong in this plane of existence, someone ethereal. someone out of this world.

akaashi doesn’t dare to speak a word. he doesn’t want to interrupt this moment— wants to take it all in. but the door closes behind him and bokuto turns around, smiling from ear to ear.

“oh, hi! you must be the human— akashi? i’m bokuto!” he jumps — no, _hops_ — to where akaashi is, voice strong and bright, all the lights following him.

“it’s akaashi, actually.” he corrects him, a little speechless. there’s something almost — almost childlike about him, despite being so powerful; he smiles brightly and his eyes are kind. akaashi feels breathless.

“akaashi.” bokuto seems to roll the name off his tongue slowly, as if he’s testing the syllables out of his mouth. “well, nice name, akaashi. and what are you here for?”

it’s a good question, akaashi supposes, and he might not be able to answer it exactly. but he has an idea why. as he spent more and more time staring at the cottage from the window, he gradually grasped onto the reason, gradually understood why his feet took him to that store.

so much of what he loves about himself is tied with his work; his value is tied with the quality of what he does. but somewhere in the past year he lost a little bit of his confidence, entered a writer’s block and was unable to do anything he likes: words and poetry and prose.

and it hurts, a bit, to be so sad. akaashi starts to open his mouth to talk, but hesitates; he is still afraid — too vulnerable — to talk about that, and bokuto seems to understand.

“hey, you don’t have to worry, you know. i’m one of the top lightmakers in the country!” bokuto says, looking around, bird-like eyes shining in different shades of golden joy. because of the light in jars, his face has different tones of white reflected— snow blue and frosty pink, mint green and cotton-like yellow. he looks proud of himself, eyebrows lifting high and mouth curved up, a simple yet reassuring smile. “even when people can’t talk about it, i like to think my lights can guide you where you need it.”

he points at the air, and on cue, one of the lights floats next to them, nearing akaashi. it’s a big one, fluffy and slightly pink, and it lands on akaashi’s shoulder, kissing his skin with warmth.

“is she… my light?”

“she likes you.” bokuto smiles. “but she’s not the one.”

“how do i know the one? do i just choose one of them?”

“you can choose whichever calls to you. all of them are good help, but you’ll know when you find the right one. it’s weird to explain, but it’s almost as if the light is choosing you instead of the other way around. you don’t need to tell me why you need them, but my advice is to try thinking about your problems, or what you want to solve.” akaashi nods, and the light floats away. “do you want some more explanations, or are you ready to choose one of them?”

akaashi doesn’t think he will ever understand it fully; even if he already had some sort of explanation with kuroo before, it’s still an alien concept— this house, these lights. bokuto.

he shakes his head, hair curling over his ears.

“i’m fine, i just— how do i start looking for the right one?”

“like i said, just walk around. talk to them! they have very good personalities. i’m gonna be waiting outside, ok?”

bokuto doesn’t wait for his answer and waves goodbye to him, hopping to the door and disappearing through the walls. akaashi, tired and in weirdness overload, isn’t fazed by that; instead, he counts to three and looks up, spotting dozens of twinkling mason jars.

akaashi takes deep breaths, looks around and goes through the room, stopping and looking at the little lights. one of them — lilac, gleaming and sharp — starts blinking at him, but when akaashi goes to it, the glow dims. he thinks that it doesn’t seem to like him very much, and the other lights around him seem to agree with him, all of them letting out giggles, pleasant and dainty like tiny little bells.

akaashi giggles too, drunk by the power in the room. he tries to understand what he must be looking for— what is he looking for, really? not in the room, but in his life, right now? is it inspiration? is his confidence? is it something else?

he thinks and thinks and thinks, and when he finally looks around again, there are dozens of jars surrounding him, getting closer and closer. his ears pick up the faint sound of bells once more, but this time is as if they are talking between each other, enchanting and childlike. akaashi doesn’t know how bokuto makes them, but despite moving in unison and talking in the same language, there’s something unique to each one of these lights; there’s no equal glow or color, and no shape and sound that match each other.

akaashi thinks and thinks and thinks until he spots a celestial light and knows. that’s the one.

the light floats inside the jar in front of him, dainty and graceful like a fuzzy little creature. it’s bright and pretty and kind, too; he knows just by looking.

he reaches for it; the mason jar glows bright until the lid opens, freeing it. it floats delicately to him, and akaashi caresses the light in the palm of his hands. it’s warm and soft and delicate, like touching the feathers of a bird. he immediately feels comforted — feels a bit like the way he used to feel when his mom hugged him as child, tight and secure.

the light seems to giggle, clearly happy to be petted by akaashi, and floats in front of him. she’s a playful one, getting close to his hand and when akaashi reaches for her, flying away, leaving a trail of glimmer behind. he smiles, surprised and delighted, and when she goes near the door he thinks he understands her. he doesn’t know how he knows that, but it’s urging him to go out of the room. so he does.

he follows the light, and finds bokuto and kuroo at the kitchen. they’re discussing something about the weight of oranges and ponds, and akaashi thinks it’s fascinating. he could listen to them talk for hours, but the light floats to bokuto, pausing over his head and twirling around him, like it’s calling for his attention.

“you found it!” bokuto exclaims. “she’s a firecracker, this one.”

“she’s nice.” he agrees, and the light giggles, floating away to the door. “and the payment—”

“give me your hand.”

“bokuto, jeez. you can’t do these things in the kitchen—” kuroo starts, but he seems to give up, throwing his hands in the air and standing up. “you know what, nevermind. i’m gonna go see if kenma needs some help with the melting trees. it was nice meeting you, human. i hope your problems get sorted out soon.”

he stretches a hand out to akaashi, who shakes it.

“it’s akaashi. and thank you for the help, too.”

kuroo doesn’t answer; just smiles sideways and disappears.

☆

akaashi leaves the cottage in a weird state of dizziness.

sharing a memory had been energy-charged and very confusing. it felt like reliving a really good dream or staying in that dreamlike state when you wake up and but still haven’t risen, mind hazy and blurring around the edges. bokuto had clasped his hands, fingers interlaced as if they were praying together, and akaashi had held onto him a bit tighter than he needed to. when kuroo had talked about sharing memories, akaashi never thought it would be so intense, so intimate— bokuto’s palms were warm and calloused, and he gripped akaashi back with the same strength, as if both of their minds were pulled together by gravity.

the sensation was so unsettling that when they parted, akaashi stared at bokuto for a while, taking some time to get back to a sane state of mind. bokuto had laughed, maybe blushed — akaashi was so confused that he couldn’t be trusted — and gave him a chocolate muffin to munch on, explaining that experiences like those usually drained all the sugar on human bodies.

akaashi had eaten the muffin slowly, and bokuto had watched and waited for him, kind but restless. his light was doing weird dances on the air — floating above bokuto and landing on the spikes of his white hair, playing in the space above and between them.

when they said their goodbyes and akaashi thanked bokuto, there was this little tug at his heart, something that made him linger at the door; he felt a bit sad at the prospect of never seeing him again. there was this warmth akaashi felt just by watching him with his work. bokuto seemed to love those little lights, seemed to treat them with kindness and respect, and that was something he could feel himself admiring.

but he needed to go, and so out he went. before he closed the door, akaashi took one last look inside the house — one last look at the vine covered walls, at the floating jars, at the smile in bokuto’s eyes — and thanked the place, thanked the cottage and thanked bokuto, promising to make the most with this chance he had just magically earned.

☆

that night, after going home and taking a long shower, akaashi dreams about writing. he dreams about a forgotten manuscript in his bedside drawer, dreams about little shards or sentences he used to tuck inside his ribcage and not let out. dreams about a finished book that is not good enough to go to the world, dreams about writing and dreams about everything else. about how so much of his identity is tied to it. about how he never learned to let go.

that night, he dreams about things he needs and wants. but instead of waking up in a cold sweat, akaashi opens his eyes and feels rested, warm all over. there’s a light curled up on his chest, soft and gentle and delicate, resting right at the point where his heart is. he thinks he can feel it breathing. he thinks it’s in sync with his heart.

☆

the light is comforting, but akaashi learns fast that it is also irritating.

for the first couple of hours after waking up, akaashi manages to make breakfast and washes his clothes, rearranges the furniture in his bedroom and waters the plants. it’s the most productive he’s been in weeks, but she keeps wandering around the apartment, restless and loud with her light, twinkling white yellow white yellow, going to the window and the door countless times.

akaashi doesn’t understand her. it feels like she wants to get out of the apartment, but it’s raining like crazy and he needs to work. he tries to talk her out of it, but she doesn’t seem to understand or answer to him, just does flips in the air until he gives up and sits down to write, ignoring her sounding bells in the background. and that’s when he sees it— in front of his apartment, right in his line of vision. the magic cottage.

the magic cottage.

the butterscotch bricks and hanging vines are still there, but it’s different from the day before; there’s a vivaciousness about it that’s hard to ignore, sunlight illuminating it directly, the trees and flowers bright and alive. akaashi stares at it, completely puzzled. he thought that once he got what he needed, the place would disappear, but there it was, in direct sight from his line of vision.

maybe that’s the reason the light was so restless: a mistake. did he take the wrong one? is he treating her wrong? a pang of anxiety curls at the lowest part in his belly, ugly and nauseating, at the probability of needing to give her back. of maybe not being the one the light should have gone too.

he’s already weirdly attached.

once again, akaashi crosses the street and goes to the magic house. the glowing star by his side twinkles excitedly, doing somersaults in the air, but he doesn't pay any attention to it; his heart is, once again, dancing inside his chest, and he focuses on that beat to ground his anxiety. one, two, three. one, two, three.

he doesn’t knock; he just opens the door, meeting the familiar ringing bells which signal his presence there. a cat — black fur and yellow eyes — sees him and flees, and a couple of seconds later, kuroo appears in the entry.

“hi! i’m kuroo, and this is—” his eyes narrow, recognition painting all his features. “well, this is unusual. human, you seem to like this place a lot, huh.”

“akaashi.” akaashi corrects him. “and why can i still see you?”

“well, i’m asking myself the same question.” kuroo lifts his eyebrows, a pensive expression taking over his face. “can you still see your light?”

“yeah.” as if on cue, the little ball floats to the front of kuroo’s face. she boops him on the nose, and he sneezes. akaashi doesn't laugh.

“i’m gonna call bokuto and kenma. this is very… unprecedented.”

☆

kenma, it turns out, is the cat.

he comes out of nowhere — jumping from couch to table - and transforms right in front of akaashi, black fur turning into pale skin. he ends up being the closest to what akaashi envisioned a witch to be— small and curled up in his skin, dressed all in black with purple shadows under his eyes. he’s tiny, too, but there’s something powerful and big about his presence. like he is the one in charge. like he could squash you under his shoes any minute now if you don’t make his time worth it.

bokuto joins them and they end up discussing the matter for hours, reaching no solid conclusion whatsoever. they do wonder if akaashi is a witch or anything of the sorts, but if the answer was positive he would have seen the house or other magical things earlier, and bokuto explains that once you choose your light - or your light chooses you, whichever way you prefer - there should be no way you can walk out and be able to return. it exists to guide you to places or things you need, and since the house has already given everything it had to offer, it’s supposed to fade and appear for the next human.

they switch strategies and start to analyse the light; how it flies, how it bends and how it reacts, how it floats gently around kenma.

“what is she doing now?” he asks, exasperation and fatigue painting every word. “why is she in my hair.”

“i just think she likes you.” akaashi answers, and all of them look over at her. she seems content until she flies away, landing smoothly on bokuto’s shoulder. he seems pleased with that, smiling quietly, eyes turning into half moons.

“she’s a warm one.”

they sit in silence for a couple of seconds, mulling over everything they talked about — until kenma and kuroo look at each other, identical expressions on their faces.

“maybe the reason the light came here—” kenma begins.

“—is because akaashi is supposed to be here. with us.” kuroo continues after kenma. “oh, that’s exciting. maybe you can become our first human apprentice.“

“i can take him in!” bokuto excitedly calls. “i liked the way he shared memories before. you have a pretty mind, akaashi. like a painting. i can mold that into so many lights!”

“i can’t do any magic!” akaashi blushes, half embarrassed, half in panic. “i can’t be an apprentice of a witch if i’m a human who can’t do any magic.”

“don’t be so down on yourself.” kuroo tells him. “of course you can do it, all humans can. you are all just a bit daft about it. some magic, like mine, is almost pure science. you just aren’t as natural as witches. i mean, don’t try to go all shapeshifter on us, though.” kuroo stops, as if he’s remembering something. ”the last time that happened the girl turned into a goldfish and kenma almost ate her.”

“to be fair, i was hungry.” akaashi looks at kenma, completely horrified. he still has the same bored expression on his face, as if they are discussing watering plants and not an accidental potential murder. “and also in my cat form.”

“but what do i do? what about my work?” akaashi argues. “i need to work. i can’t just go on a random vacation to become a witch.”

“you don’t need to live here all the time.” bokuto interjects. “just come visit us.”

“yeah, sleep in your apartment. and aren’t you a writer? you can work from basically anywhere.” kenma adds. “so just work here. we have really good wifi.”

☆

so akaashi goes to the cabin every day.

it’s not really much effort, he finds out, because the only thing he is supposed to be doing is writing — and he can do that anywhere he feels comfortable.

and it’s easy to be comfortable there; easy to fall into the smell of bread and honeysuckle, to make a home out of the soft chairs and empty corners of the living room.

he strikes a companionship with kenma, who mostly sleeps by day and works at night; there’s always silence between them, but when they talk is easy and without complications — kenma is blunt in a way akaashi deeply appreciates. kuroo is also blunt, but in a playful way; he’s too observant for his own good, knows how to read people just the right way, and pulls pranks on bokuto and kenma despite knowing he will definitely get pranked back.

and it’s easy with bokuto, too.

it’s easy in a way akaashi didn’t predict, because the first time akaashi met him bokuto seemed this figure much larger than life; seemed someone he could only look up to, broad and big and powerful, half volcano and half boy.

but bokuto is not only exploding lava but gentle soil, kind and excited about little things, fertile curiosity blooming flowers in akaashi’s mind. there’s beauty about the way he likes to hear akaashi talk, in his wonder about the details. in the way he treats akaashi like he’s something precious.

it’s weird, because akaashi has never been the talkative kind; his way of expression has always been through art, be it writing novels or poetry, but he finds himself growing chatty around bokuto; bokuto who constantly asks for him to describe mundane things, who finds the utmost joy when akaashi can’t remember the word for _curtains_ and says _fabric windows_ instead _._ bokuto who likes to tease him and learn new words. bokuto who tests sentences that are a bit sense-deaf to humans, but still fascinating nonetheless. and the most fascinating part of it all is that he doesn't mind it.

it’s weird, not minding; akaashi would be afraid that describing and narrating out loud for bokuto would drain him from words, but it doesn’t. in fact, he ends up writing more. he still can’t do much at home, but when bokuto is concentrated on magical tasks and kenma and kuroo are handling dangerous chemicals, he scribbles two or three or four paragraphs that work, and rereading everything doesn’t make him want to jump of a bridge.

and when he can’t write he likes to watch bokuto work, something that is a delight in itself. bokuto has strong but gentle hands, hands that braid strings of lavender with champagne bubbles and popsicles and loud laughter, making summer-spring in a jar. akaashi asks, once, if he could teach him how to make a season. he’s shy all over his bones, red from head to toe, and when bokuto nods and gets all excited and mad scientist about it - claiming they need to go to the market and the light’s village, mumbling something about starlights and comet tails - something akin to fondness curls in the bottom of his stomach.

by the end of the first month, akaashi finds out they are all mad scientists in their own way; bokuto is wonder, ethereal and weird and beautiful, growing crystals and colors and smells into glass jars and making liquid emotions out of them; kuroo is terrifying, magical periodic table and scientific classifications, melting plants and iron into potions; and kenma is intensely obsessed, going into strings of all consuming work until he gets tired and turns into a cat, resting for twenty hours straight.

the cottage is an exact combination of the three, and akaashi can see it now. can see it in the way the windows bend light at the house’s will, how everything is terribly disorganised but in places the three of them can find - how sometimes the nightlight taste like rain, the vines over the walls tangle in dance and how the customers seem to be the best people akaashi has ever met.

there’s komi and konoha, other light witches who seem to be close friends with bokuto - they come for these big jars with liquid luck and flowers inside, stay for tea for a couple of hours and then disappear, leaving specks of sunlight in the tired afternoon air. then there’s lev and alisa, huge, tall faeries who are clumsy but good mannered, that buy baskets full of potions and trinkets. kenma sighs during the entire interaction, explaining things to lev slowly and precisely, but smiles quietly after they leave - kenma’s private way of expressing fondness, akaashi learns.

there’s yachi who brings them food, daichi and suga who are friends with kuroo, and kiyoko who enters the room and commands attention, time and space her merciful servants. akaashi doesn’t know what she is; he’s only met with witches and faeries and little giants, and she’s none of that - so he just shuts his mouth around her, secretly thinking she’s either is a god or something even more powerful.

and then - the humans.

tsukishima comes, and he’s as bit as snarky as someone with a piece of wood up his ass is, and somehow kuroo and bokuto tag team for him to leave with a light right away. it’s like they know he needs to be pushed and pulled a little, and akaashi is very impressed. his light takes one month and a half to disappear.

there’s yamaguchi, who seems quite stunned at the magical place, but leaves with a light that takes three weeks to vanish.

there’s also hinata and kageyama, who somehow - also a first in the cottage’s history - enter the house at the same time, breaths ragged and bodies tired from running. they fight during the entire transaction, but their lights dance in the air together, bumping each other until they leave. bokuto tells him later that it takes just a couple of days for them to disappear; it’s a bit shorter than the usual time for humans and their lights, but akaashi thinks they didn’t need to go far to find what they were looking for. they just needed a push in the right direction.

and there’s akaashi. three months and a couple of days in, with no sign of any changes.

he starts to panic. it’s been three months, so why hasn’t his light gone out yet? why is he stuck in this magic cottage, laughing freely with bokuto, letting himself be pranked by kuroo, discussing things with kenma? why is he doing what the light wants him to do - yet it doesn’t seem to be working?

because he writes, sometimes. it isn’t his most inspired work, but he has gone out of the block already and has redone enough in the last months for his editor to be at peace. his book is on its way to be finished again - and akaashi isn’t proud of that one, but he has bills to pay.

so if it isn’t his writing - if it wasn’t a simple writer’s block that brought him to the cottage, what is it?

he needs to figure it out and figure it out fast - because despite liking these people and finding magic the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, he will go back to his life without them. a life where osamu meets with him every four weeks and akaashi doesn’t pretend to be hiding a huge part of his life. a life where nothing has been turned upside down because of magic. a life where kuroo doesn’t look at him funny when he evades questions about his friends, a life where bokuto doesn’t look like early morning glow - where there isn’t a bokuto at all.

last week he brought groceries to the cottage instead of his own house, and one of the regulars called him by his name; akaashi realised that was probably the seventh or eight time they interacted, and his ground shifted a little. he didn't want to be at risk of getting attached to these people; didn't want any roots growing out of his ribcage.

☆

“i don’t appreciate,” akaashi began, serious face on. “you guys making fun of my reading voice.”

kuroo and bokuto were laughing again, and he would be annoyed if it wasn’t so good natured; kuroo was like that - teasing and quick with his tongue, but it all came from a place of care.

“it’s not your reading voice, it’s how weird you sound trying to be different characters.” kuroo blurted, blunt as ever. “you are normally so serious, it’s hilarious to see you trying to be an excited kid. even if it’s just a character.”

“i like when you switch voices for different people, it’s amazing,“ bokuto said, smile angelic and pure. “do the old man again!”

“bokuto, i’m not gonna do that! we still have four chapters to go today, and if we want the cottage to be satisfied you all better not interrupt me.”

the cottage’s temperature rose and went down, rose and went down. maybe that was its way of showing support. akaashi had no idea what was happening.

“the cottage thinks this is funny.” kuroo pointed out to the entire place. “it’s been a while since i’ve seen it laugh like this.”

“this is laughing?” he looked around, trying to talk to the cottage, and then checked himself on how ridiculous he must have looked. “well, i’m not reading for you all anymore if all you can do is laugh at me. and this includes you, eh. house.”

“akaashiiiiii!!” bokuto jumped on him, pulling his body back down from rising. “we are gonna stop, i swear. just read for us!!!”

they struggle for a couple of minutes, bokuto trying to prevent akaashi from leaving and akaashi pretending to want to leave just to annoy him. when they finally settle things - ten minutes later, with kuroo still laughing in the background - akaashi makes them swear not to say a thing during the whole read-through, prohibiting laughter and screams and exploding butterflies.

“you think i’m the only one? the turtle said furiously. i am -“

“why do you do these freaky voices when you read?” kenma appeared out of nowhere from the kitchen, stretching his body as if he just transformed back from being a cat. “they sound like these weird voice actors on youtube.”

akaashi turns to the boys, staring them down, as if daring bokuto and kuroo not to say a word. they hold themselves for a couple of seconds, trying not to laugh, but the entire situation is ridiculous; and then akaashi can’t help himself and giggles, and they are all laughing, even the house, leaving a baffled kenma frozen on the spot.

“weirdos.” he mutters, turning into a cat again.

akaashi doesn’t stop laughing for a long time.

☆

“you’re essentially a firework.”

“i like to think i’m more like… a fire torch.”

“a lantern?”

“a bathroom lightbulb! no, a children’s nightlight!”

“the stars.”

“big fire.”

“a quiet candle?”

“the sun!”

“the sun is a star, bokuto.”

“oh! then we are both right, akaashi!”

“what is going on.” kuroo widens his eyes, looking between akaashi and bokuto's back and forth and kenma, who silently observes them from the couch. ”what are they even saying.”

“half of the time i spend in their presence i don’t know what they are talking about, and the other half i’m frankly not listening. ”

☆

the sun dissolves into the living room, liquid gold spilling all over the akaashi’s body, legs and torso and head almost asleep on the couch. he feels warm; it’s autumn, and the day is supposed to be chill, but the light coming from the window make everything a little less cold.

he closes his eyes for a moment, feeling his body all over; his feet barely touch the hardwood floor, the tip of his toes flirting with the oak. there’s languidness. there's languidness and dust floating in the air like glitter, catching the light just so, making everything eerie and dreamy and the right shades of yellow.

he and bokuto talk; akaashi doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, mouth just spilling out nonsense, feeling a little bit drunk with the way the house seems frozen in time. he says something particularly blunt, and bokuto, as always, laughs with feeling, going back to concentrating on his task at hand right away, body stretched out on the floor. the floor akaashi wants to go.

bokuto tries to merge two very strong-headed lights into one, tries to fuse the quietness of pouring rain into the smell of early morning coffee, but they are being particularly difficult and whiny. it’s a special project, a little gift he’s been trying to perfect ever since akaashi mentioned his favorite sensation is writing while it rains with a hot cup of coffee over his lap; and how the weather is particularly difficult for that in the current time of the year.

“akaashi, i didn’t ask about the best books you’ve read. i asked about the ones you like the most.”

“oh.” akaashi blushes, realising his mistake. “sorry. i didn’t think about the difference.”

“you can see the difference even in the way you talk.” bokuto whispered, as if he was telling a secret. “normally you’re so introspective. but you get all big when you talk about the things you love.”

there’s astonishment written all over akaashi's face, surprise on how bokuto is able to understand people - understand him - so easily. he does this with kuroo and kenma, too; understand things about them just by the way they talk or move, things akaashi can’t pick up by himself. and while akaashi thought that had to do with the way they’ve been friends for years, he was proven wrong when observing bokuto’s way of interacting with customers. with his way of interacting with him.

akaashi stops. he lets his gaze rise, staring hard at bokuto; looks at his profile, traveling from the slope of his nose to the curve of his mouth.

and thanks the gods he isn’t looking back.

“akaashi. come here, see this. it’s one of my favorite parts of this job.”

akaashi wakes up from his dazed state - realizes he dozed off a little, got lost somewhere in bokuto's everything - and gets up from the sofa, kneeling besides bokuto. there, in his hands, two lights are side by side, barely touching; a couple of flares of light sparking out, soft and glowing.

embracing.

akaashi feels his heart stop for a second; the scene is transfixing, and the air around them humid with feeling. time stands still and then the lights merge into one, shapes and sparks and colors blending into a ball of things akaashi loves, glowing violet-carnation-pink. she’s warm, but still and quiet; different from the one he has floating somewhere around the house, the place a playground of magic.

bokuto transfers her to a glass jar, hands still careful, eyes full of pride and affection.

“she’s asleep - you can open the jar when you want to write, and she will glow and disappear little by little. everything will be just like your favorites, i made sure of that.”

it’s one of the most beautiful things akaashi has seen - and he is counting the first time he saw the lights, the room glimmering bright with magic. but somehow, this one - even if it’s something momentaneous - feels bigger to him.

they stay still for a couple of seconds - akaashi's hands cradling the jar against his chest, and bokuto's still holding little shards of whatever he used to make his gift. so akaashi thanks him, voice barely a whisper, and bokuto looks at him - eyes gentle but piercing, the brightest cadmium yellow he has ever seen.

bokuto’s magic has weight - akaashi has always felt it, a clumped ball of light against his chest, resting on his shirt’s pockets or over his shoulder. but now he knows bokuto is not using magic. what’s this pressure then? what’s this weight that’s pressing against his chest, making his heart tremble, his hands shake?

☆

osamu has a knack for knowing when things are wrong even when akaashi doesn't tell him. which is fairly often, since the last thing akaashi likes to talk is about his personal life.

“i brought onigiris”

“i expected nothing less from you.” akaashi opens the door, inviting him in. “put them on the table and come help me with the salmon. i always manage to season it wrong, and you’ve got a hand for these things.”

“i can’t believe you have a guest and didn’t even bother finishing cooking on time for him.”

“we've been doing these monthly dinners for years, so you’re hardly a guest. and i was working.” akaashi points to his desk in the living room, the one stationed right under the window. his laptop is perfectly centered amidst a mess of papers, outlines and pictures. "there's something new i'm working on."

"already?" osamu raises his brows. "you barely finished that last novel you spent ages editing."

"i've been inspired lately." akaashi mumbles, cheeks blushing a not subtle pink. "it's just some assorted poetry."

“hum.” osamu trailed off. “can i take a look?"

"no." akaashi says while laughing. "but i know you will anyways. so at least wait after dinner? i handle criticism better when i'm not hungry."

osamu accepts the proposition and walks to stand next to akaashi, ready to help with dinner preparations; while they cook and set the table together, there's conversation about all kinds of new book releases — including osamu's brother new novel — and for akaashi, it feels like the only semblance of normalcy he's had in a while.

"his fiance gets so embarrassed about his novels. it's really funny."

"is it really that bad? i haven't had a chance to check any of his last books." akaashi looks at osamu, and his expression of bafflement steals a laugh from him.

"if it is that bad? i love my brother, don't get me wrong, but at his best he is a dan brown." their faces rearrange themselves into a pair of matching grimaces, and akaashi laughs once again. "i do think he is getting better though. sakusa gives really good critique. he's merciless."

" _you_ are merciless. don't think i forgot how rude you were regarding that first draft of my second novel."

"i know i was kind of rude, but that was literally my job before i quit everything to open my store. and bold of you to assume i would read something from atsumu — sakusa is the one who agreed to marry him, so the responsibility is totally his. oh! and talking about sakusa, that reminds me — we are starting a book club."

"a book club."

"yes. me, sakusa and you. only japanese authors. every other sunday afternoon."

"i don't think — "

"it's going to be at my house, and i'll send the details by text sometime this week. it's just sakusa and me. at least think about it."

akaashi closes his eyes.

"ok, 'samu." akaashi stands up, gathering the dishes from the table. "while i wash these do you want to take a look at some of my new pieces? first and last offer."

"well, just the fact that i don't need to wash the plates is already incentive enough. you know i hate that part."

"i know." akaashi laughs, taking everything that needs to be washed to the sink; osamu goes to his working table, and starts rummaging through the pencils and papers.

"what is that?”

at the desk, glowing small like a children’s nightlight, is bokuto’s gift - the jar he had made for akaashi, waiting to be used. osamu stares at it with wonder; the light glows bright, as if liking to be admired.

it’s not like akaashi had forgotten about it when making plans with osamu; but he had assumed that, like his floating light, this one would be invisible for humans, too.

it’s a problem.

“it’s, uh. a new lamp.”

“it’s beautiful.” osamu walks to the desk and takes the jar on his hands, fingers caressing the glass. “where did you buy it? i’ve never seen anything like it.”

akaashi is a beat too late.

“uh. somewhere… online.”

osamu, of course, is too perceptive for his own good.

“you never buy anything online.”

"yeah. uh. i decided to change that. so i bought it. in a website." akaashi stammers.

"ok." osamu's tone is suspicious, but he makes no further comment, turning around to read akaashi's new poetry.

the next fifteen minutes are spent in silence; akaashi finishes washing their cups and plates, letting them dry on the rack. when he goes back to the living room, osamu is quiet, eyes far away and seemingly contemplating something.

"when were you going to tell me you fell in love?"

"what." akaashi stammers out, completely horrified. "i'm not _in love_."

"ok, not in love. but at least enamored. you have a _crush._ " he points at the papers over the table. "this stuff is too romantic. and the lamp? like i said, you don't go near online shopping within a two feet pole distance. did this person gift it to you?"

"uh, hum." he can't do this. "it's having a writing phase. think about it like picasso's cubism."

"listen, akaashi. i’ve been your friend for five years and it took me more than half of that time for you to start opening up to me.” osamu says. “you are like those russian dolls, you know? i’m always breaking a sweat to get to know your next layers, and when i think i’m reaching the end i find out there are seven more yous inside.”

akaashi looks away. he's not ready for this conversation.

"and the reason i can be your friend is because i don't push or pull much. i know how to give you space. but this — this seems like something really important. i've been noticing that during our last phone calls. you've been so… chipper. all those little signs — you're happier than usual, and you just straight up lied to me about that lamp — don't even try to argue, you are a terrible, terrible liar — and now you are writing romantic poetry? what's next? you elope without telling me?"

“i would never elope.”

“i just want you to feel comfortable enough with me to talk. because i do with you - you know the breakup with suna was only bearable because of you and tsumu. but it can feel a bit tiring, to always be the one opening up and not getting anything back, you know? sometimes i feel like i'm talking to a walking brick wall."

it hits akaashi in his chest, shades of hurt all over. it's hard and fast and painful — because while he has been distancing himself from others, all these years while there are very, very few things he holds dear and close to his heart.

his friendship with osamu is one of them.

akaashi pauses, taking a deep breath. it’s difficult. not only because he wants to keep things safe inside his heart, like a secret, but also because osamu probably won’t ever believe him. he doesn’t need to mention kuroo nor kenma, nor the magic shop - but how would he explain bokuto, then?

because bokuto - bokuto is the name of a feeling akaashi still hasn’t been able to touch.

and it terrifies him.

“i met him by accident.” he looks away from osamu. he needs to occupy his hands. truths come with shaking hands; he learned that long ago. “and i’m… i’m fond of him. he listens to me ramble about stupid stuff, like literature. we are very different but it feels like we talk the same language, you know?”

“i know.” long gone is his sarcasm; osamu’s tone is gentle, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “are you two dating?”

“what? no, of course not.”

“why not?”

“because it’s not gonna work out.” he says, and doesn’t add why it’s fated not to work out. doesn’t add that his days with bokuto are numbered. and also -

“why do you think it won’t work out?”

“just because it won’t!”

“and what’s the problem of not working out?” osamu asks, voice rising in frustration “why don’t you try anyway? you can enjoy relationships even if it doesn't work out. that’s the fun in life, akaashi. do you think i regret the people i met and the time i spent during high school on volleyball? no. i don’t. because it became a dear memory to me. because i chose to celebrate it.”

all of his endings were rushed - no goodbyes to his grandmother, his dad walking out on his family, his friends from high school ignoring his messages - and he could go on. it didn’t matter that some of those experiences - most of them, even - were good; every ending was bad. and a bad ending always spoils the good parts.

“i know you’ve had your fair share of fucked up things happening, and it’s not something you just forget from day to night. i know you don't wanna consider it — but therapy helps.” osamu sighs. “however, since you are going to ignore this brilliant piece of advice once again, try not to ignore what you feel. aren’t you tired of being so pessimistic? actually, scratch that - aren’t you lonely?”

he doesn’t answer osamu. akaashi knows that if he shuts the conversation down, osamu will keep himself from prodding in - that’s why they became friends in the first place. their aversion to crowds. companionship without talking. the mutual ability to ignore the big elephant in the room when asked.

“you are right.” akaashi smiles gently, the lie rolling of his tongue with easiness. “maybe i should try with him, uh?”

(he can’t see it, but there, in the living room, floating around his head, akaashi’s personal light shines the brightest he has ever seen. neither she nor osamu are fooled.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was, again, part one! part two will have one of my favorite scenes of the fic, so hopefully you (you! who is reading this! hey!) give me another chance. i swear i'm trying my best. hopefully you will like it <3
> 
> you can find me on [ @snowlighters ](https://twitter.com/snowlighters) on twitter! i'm a mess due to bokuaka week so let's be friends and scream about them together!!


	2. diaphanous

“c’mon kuroo - i really want to take akaashi to the market!” bokuto half whined half shouted, excitement bleeding from his words.

“you know how wrong that can go.” kuroo said, sighing, as if it wasn’t the first time they were discussing this. all of them were at the kitchen table, afternoon sun escaping the windows and painting the entire scene blue, everything looking like the background of a cyanotype photograph. he wasn’t looking at any of them, concentrated in a flask of liquid storm. “you blink and suddenly he’s drinking something strange and turning you both into caterpillars. i really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“that was once!” bokuto exclaimed indignantly. “and i thought we agreed it was actually fun.”

“it was fun - ”

“talk for yourselves.” kenma interrupted, appearing from under the table. akaashi didn’t think he could get used to his constant shapeshifting. “i was the one who had to go looking for you. you were literally caterpillars. your bodies were four centimetres long; anyone could have stepped and killed you.” he paused, as if contemplating the memory. “i actually don’t know why i didn’t do that myself.”

“is it that bad? i think i can be responsible.” akaashi muttered, trying to reason with them. he really wanted to go to the market - wanted to experience how magic bubbled over the surface, wanted to smell the summer scent of fresh apple-peaches bokuto spoke of so often. “i’m hardly a distracted person.”

“you see, akaashi, even for people who are good at focusing - like me and kenma - it is very easy to be distracted in a place like that.” kuroo got up, foot kicking the chair into place and pointing at the boxes and baskets they had in the corner of the kitchen. “that’s why we go in groups with friends or order our stuff from them.“

“and before you suggest, yes, we tried using amazon prime once.” kenma began. “but bokuto started to get addicted to it, so we banned online shopping.”

“i wasn’t addicted! i just bought some really fun stuff.”

“bokuto. the house had to create one room just for the things you ordered.” he paused, fingers counting the endless things bokuto bought. ”a miniature cooking set. a children’s pool. slime. a weird amount of glitter.”

“i did actually end up using the slime, though. it’s very good for soothing potions.” kuroo interjected. kenma looked at him, long and hard, and he shut up for a second before continuing. “but coming back to our main point. bokuto is - no offence buddy - the worst about going to the market. he gets distracted by everything and befriends everyone. and neither i nor kenma can go with you both. this month we are in house arrest due to some conflict with the moon phases.”

“c’mon!! i’m gonna be responsible.” bokuto said. “i can hold his hand the entire time, even!” as if he wanted to demonstrate, bokuto grabbed akaashi’s left hand. “we can help each other. i’m not that useless. i’m one the most powerful witches in japan! and akaashi has said himself, he is good at focusing. and just in case you are still worried, we can give him a communication crystal for any possible things that may go wrong. yeah!! i think i have all the arguments on my side. me and akaashi are going to the market.”

“jesus christ.” kuroo exclaimed, hands holding his own forehead. he then looked at akaashi, genuine worry painting his features. “just… take care, ok?”

akaashi nodded, a little taken back; it wasn’t that kuroo was heartless, far from it; but he wasn’t used to be in the direct line of worry from anyone other than osamu, and even that wasn’t so openly expressed, but rather in between exchanged words from sparse phone calls.

“i have dibs on the human if he turns into a glowing worm.” kenma grinned, a rare sight, something sinister bubbling underneath. “god knows how rare and expensive those are.”

☆

the market is huge and a mess and charming, just like the house bokuto lived in.

you could access it through an entrance at the back door of their cottage, a portal that worked during the day and took you to places you wanted - which, for bokuto and kuroo and kenma, meant mostly other witches’ houses, a couple of flower fields, a 24 hour grocery shop, and - the magic market.

the market has all kinds of people, from witches to human-lizards, skin glinting blue-green-purple under the eyes of the sun. akaashi could walk through the stalls on lilac pavement, stones stained with time, and the sound of voices would rise and fall in the background, like distant sea tides.

the people there sold a variety of things - orange carrots and white turnips, glinting bonsais and flying tapestries - and everything smelled like fresh tangerines and champagne, happiness saturating the air. akaashi had never seen anything like it; everything seemed to vibrate with frantic energy, bold and bright and so _alive_.

it was enchanting and alluring, the way some stalls silently called to akaashi. but bokuto's hands where there, present and kind, along with his light inside his shirt’s pocket, pulsing fluorescent warm. everything worked together as a gentle reminder of kuroo’s warning: don’t stray from bokuto, and don’t let him stray from you.

bokuto had walked with him through some tents; bought him the sweetest of peaches, showed him how water stethoscopes worked and presented akaashi to half the vendors, all while purchasing the ingredients he needed for them to make spring together. he seemed to know everyone; from the old lady resting in the café chairs to the kids wandering the market, little wizards whose eyes were, the moment they spotted bokuto, filled with humid admiration.

“are you bokuto?” one boy around ten years old asked, shy hands playing with the hem of his shirt. he looked at bokuto with all the wonder of a kid looking at their hero, and akaashi was surprised. when he learned his lights were some of the best in the country, he had no idea that bokuto was this well known. it was a side of him akaashi had never seen.

“yeah!” bokuto exclaimed, looking down at the kid. “i’m bokuto. what’s your name?”

they spend around ten minutes talking to the kid. bokuto takes one of the flowers they bought from the stands and weaves it with light, making it glitter prettily. when they move to the next stall, the boy stays planted on the sidewalk, eyes dazed with memory, his hand holding the gift bokuto had given him carefully.

“you’re good with kids.” akaashi had exclaimed, but it wasn’t much of a surprise; bokuto had that kind of energy, the one that matched with children well.

“i love how they love magic - it’s always fun to talk to them.” bokuto says, clearly pleased. “it’s not that it isn’t fun to talk to adults. but it’s different. kids still admire magic - a little bit like you, akaashi. that’s why i love to show you new things. you get this glint in your eyes.”

“i like it here.” akaashi said, not daring to look at bokuto, shy all over. “i like to see all these places.” he doesn’t finish the sentence. he doesn’t say he's going to miss it, the magic and the lights and the people he met.

bokuto understands him anyway.

“you know what? i want to show you somewhere else too, before we lose the chance. i don’t think kuroo is going to let us come a second time unless i take his customers for three years.”

“where?”

“it’s a place really important to me. also where i came from, in a way. the light village.”

“oh.” akaashi mumbled, curiosity painting his face. “do all of the lightmakers live there?”

“yes.” bokuto looked at him, smiling. “i once lived there too, but i decided to move away a couple of years ago.”

there’s silence, and akaashi mulls over whether it is his place to ask, but of course bokuto knows what he wants to say, so before he even finishes his train of thought - bokuto answers him.

“i moved away because it’s a secret and humans can’t access it.” he smiles, and gestures to the market behind them. “i love people. it’s why i make the lights. it’s why i live with kenma and kuroo - most of the witches think we are a bit weird in the head. we live in our own self made coven, inside a european looking cottage in japan. but we do that because we want to help people and bring magic to them.”

“i mean, there’s no reason for your cottage to be european.”

“there is! kuroo had a nerd phase where he was obsessed with italian and french architecture. and we found out customers came to us easier because the house was so different among the tokyo buildings.”

“i think you just love the attention.” akaashi teases him, even though he knows it isn’t true. bokuto is kind, and akaashi knows he loves to help; he’s good with people. he can see it in the cottage's routine, with the way he talks to the customers and builds their lights. but it's fun to egg bokuto on.

“hey! i don’t make my beams for nothing -“

“your beams?” akaashi asks, making bokuto blush. “it’s how you call them? bokuto’s beams?”

akaashi laughs, and bokuto blushes, completely embarrassed, trying over and over to explain why. they walk for half an hour, bickering here and there, hands brushing occasionally when the path is too narrow.

it’s good — good and comfortable and easy, the easiest thing akaashi has ever felt. he barely notices the change in scenery; all his attention is on bokuto. his laugh. his bird eyes. the way he excitedly walks in front of him and then rewinds back, as if remembering akaashi doesn’t know the way.

as if remembering akaashi is looking for guidance.

☆

they arrive at the edge of the city, right in front of a forest; the trees with their edges smudged by shadows, everything dark and green and indistinguishable. there’s little to see - all the shapes hidden like they are playing hide and seek.

“we’ve arrived.” he says, and akaashi looks, but all he sees is grass wet by moonlight. he tries and tries and tries, but is met with nothing - until bokuto whispers on his ear, sending shivers all over his body. “you need my hand, silly. your light only lets you see so much.”

he opens his palms, fingers shy; the touch is soft, like the feathers of a newborn owl. akaashi grips his palm with care, and, like an invisible veil being lifted up, he sees.

it’s beautiful and foreign and all akaashi wants is to commit everything to memory.

he sees people and he sees how it’s all arranged; they all live in tiny quirky houses, little floating things made of wood and magic, held by light and moonbeans. the shadows dance like burning flames, and there’s a weird certainty to how things look - how the homes balance themselves on air, how everything feels like a shoal of light; everything floating together, air so static the electrons fight for space with each other.

he doesn’t know how it all works; how the people touch a glowing current and get to the top of a tree, how there’s nothing really solid holding their weight up. but akaashi has long stopped trying to make sense in this world of magic, has been slowly learning to peel logic away and take things for how they feel - and this feels like a memory, sacramento green photograph that never stops moving.

“the best architects are the ones who capture light the best,” bokuto begins, breaking the silence between them. “they know how to build walls from different things, like candlelights or fireflies. it’s very impressive.”

“it’s beautiful.” he can’t say much, but he doesn’t think it’s needed. his heart is beating so fast he thinks bokuto can feel his pulse just by holding his hand.

“i could never build things like these.”

“you can build anything.” akaashi looks at him, confused on why bokuto - of all people - is putting himself down. bokuto who helps people with their problems. bokuto who spends days and days working on lights that might never see their counterparts, because humans are too stubborn to accept help. “you build hope. isn’t that beautiful?”

“oh.” bokuto looks at him, “akaashi, what is it like to be you? so weird and so smart with words.”

“i don’t know if that was supposed to be a compliment or not.”

☆

they don’t explore the village; humans visiting markets and public spaces are fine, but villages are the basic epicentres of covens. akaashi isn’t allowed inside sacred places like that unless he is married to a magical creature - since allowing an outsider is to allow a direct link to danger.

they decide to go to the hills, a place just outside of the village. bokuto sits down on the highest point of the meadow, and akaashi follows him, laying about one and a half cats away. in between minutes of silence, akaashi teaches bokuto a couple of his favorite words - stelliferous and ephemeral, scintilla and amative - while bokuto tells stories from his childhood, how he and his friends used to spike energy into the ground, how children of witches have their own ways of learning from nature. he points to places and tells akaashi what he has done, what his family used to do. how he needed to be soaked with moonlight for nights on end before he could meet the mother-river. how he went to the market for the first time when he was eight years old and became so excited he peed a little.

“you peed -“

“akaashi! think about the coolest place you’ve ever wanted to visit. and think about your parents telling you we are going NOW. visiting the market is an event for us witches. didn’t you see that kid today? he was so happy!“

“i thought he was just happy to see you.”

“you think so?”

they smile at each other; akaashi looks at bokuto, looks at the sky, looks at him again - and bokuto waits, already knowing akaashi is deep in thought.

“if they are so sacred and important, why are you showing me these places?”

there’s no pause, no hesitance on bokuto’s answer.

“because you are my friend, and it’s probably your only opportunity to see them, unless other witches open their business for humans. i want to share this with you while i still can.”

akaashi gets it, he does, but he still can’t understand why someone like bokuto - someone so important and bright and wonderful - would be doing things like this with a human. he doesn’t know what kickstarts him into asking - he likes to keep his insecurities to himself, tucked in a pocket hidden inside his heart - but courage blooms on the tip of his tongue.

“don’t you think you are wasting your time with me?”

“do you want to know a secret, akaashi?” bokuto whispers to him, and it’s a little bit funny because there’s no one else in the meadow besides them. it’s oddly intimate too, the way he holds his breath and waits for an answer, as if what akaashi says will make a difference. as if akaashi would dare to say no. “i used to be really bad at making lights. every night i climbed this meadow by myself and prayed for the stars to help me, and then spent hours working. i used to braid flowers with water to practice - used to drink rivers and rain to understand how nature worked. sometimes i would even fall asleep in the wild.”

akaashi can imagine it; bokuto, so desperate to do and to learn, excitement vibrating the tip of his fingertips. bokuto as a kid, fast asleep in the grass, face stained with fluorescent moss, body curled into the shape of an apple.

“when i started to get good at them - the lights, i mean - it was the time my parents really started to pay attention to my education. but with the exception of making lights, i was terrible at everything else. i told them how i thought i was no good at anything. that the reason i was good at this type of magic was because of the stars. and you know what my mom said to me?” he asks, looking at akaashi right in his eyes - golden and yellow piercing like fireflies amidst the dark. “you got better at this because you put effort and love into it. not because of the stars. stars aren’t living things to grant your wishes.”

he pauses and takes a deep breath, hands playing with the grass under them. akaashi is transfixed; can’t do anything else except pay attention, pay attention to his voice, his body, his words.

(somewhere around them, there’s a light pulsating strong. somewhere inside his body, there’s fear stroking his heart.)

“isn’t it funny how humans think about stars, akaashi? you all fear death and yet think they are so beautiful. stars are nothing but dead light - my mom used to tell me that but i didn’t understand. and then i met kuroo and he clarified it to me - we see what existed thousands and thousands and millions of years ago. in a way, the sky is just a graveyard of light.”

akaashi looks at bokuto, really looks at him, and their eyes meet in the space between them.

“but we still find them beautiful. just because they are dead doesn’t mean their past - what we are seeing now - isn’t enough, or worth it, or incredible. isn’t that what matters?”

he pauses for a while, but akaashi - akaashi knows he isn’t done, somehow. they are attuned like that. it hasn’t been long, but it has been easy, the way they’ve connected. a senseless form of silence. words interwoven with feeling. glances that would be stolen if both of their hearts didn’t sign a contractual form secretly called crush.

“akaashi. just because something will be over it doesn’t mean it isn’t worth to experience. or to live it. most living experiences - be you a witch or a human, a faery or a troll - are ephemeral. did i - did i use that right?”

akaashi smiles and nods. osamu had told him the same thing. he didn't understand that, then. he still doesn't know if he agrees with it completely. but he doesn't think he disagrees with it as much, either.

his eyes are wet. he looks up at bokuto.

“i am glad you came to our cottage. i don’t know the reason. i don’t know why your light isn’t going out, and i don’t know why you keep coming back. but if one day you can’t see us anymore, i hope you know i am glad to have met you. and i hope you are glad to have met us too.”

akaashi can’t say anything; his body betrays him, hands trembling and voice not coming out. his blood is made of fear. he doesn’t know what to do, but bokuto is once again kind, taking his hands into his, and akaashi understands; he thinks bokuto understands too, how thankful he is. he tries to say it behind his glasses with his dumb, wet eyes.

under bokuto’s gaze, something squeezes his chest; and in the shivering night air fog - autumn air fresh, under the moon’s gaze - the cold is not the reason there’s braille rising in akaashi’s skin.

they curl on each other, two different sides of the moon: human-witch, shadow-light. bokuto beams, he reflects. he doesn’t know what bokuto has to gain from this friendship, but here’s something he knows: everything that reflects absorbs, too. it’s an exchange.

he likes it. and he’s starting to accept it, too.

☆

making seasons goes like this:

noise in the living room, kenma complaining about chaos in the house, bokuto standing over the table looking like a madman. floating lights surrounding him like fireflies, electricity painting the air with smoke, all his ingredients in dancing jars. pandemonium.

contrary to what akaashi would expect, the house seems to love the mess, seems to thrive in it, and everything looks much more saturated with color and light. golden and crimson and ivory white, all the flying glass reflects the sun coming from the window, scattering fragments of lost light all over them.

bokuto has a way with dealing with the chaos, of course, and that involves a lot of pointing and whispering orders to inanimate objects. the jars that house the ingredients glow and break in the air, and the liquid - or smoke or dust, whatever material is stored - flows to the cauldron, a big black thing almost 150 centimetres tall that rests in the middle of the living room.

most of the time, the things going inside are simple: warmth beneath blankets, wool against skin, wet hair tickling your forehead. but then there are times akaashi doesn’t understand why bokuto adds certain pieces - lazy wednesdays nights, cold sunlight, sultry background music.

“is there a calculation for what you put in?” akaashi walks around the cauldron, trying to look inside with curiosity. a big glowing bubble grows and bursts, spilling glitter all over the table. he takes a step back, careful.

“there’s really not much science,” bokuto explains, “it’s just feeling. i like to have fun, too; that’s why tokyo has some unexpected things happening during the season.”

“last summer,” akaashi begins, “there were three consecutive days of rainbows. was that you?”

“yes!” he smiles. “did you also notice the duck shaped clouds?”

“i-” akaashi looks at bokuto in wonder. “i thought that was just my imagination.”

“no!!! that was me!!” bokuto jumps pointing at himself, and akaashi swears his body almost floats. “making seasons is fun because i get to make so many humans happy. i love to hear the wind bring compliments from people. even a comment like _the day was nice_ makes me excited.”

“the day was nice today.” akaashi not so subtly adds, and bokuto’s smile widens.

“thanks!!” he points to another jar, but this time akaashi can’t read the label. “i just choose things i would like to happen. even the most specific ones. surprisingly, people tend to connect in between those details.”

akaashi nods. “which one are you doing now?”

“my favorite: spring.” he says, and signals with one of his hands for akaashi to get closer. “come here, akaashi. help me with this one.”

akaashi mildly panics; he doesn’t know what to do, which ingredients to choose. he can’t ruin a season, much less spring; that’s when the earth becomes alive, when the colors awaken, when the animals soar. it’s bokuto’s favorite season, and bees need it to live — he can’t kill bees.

“akaashi! c’mon. there’s no wrong choice. stop overthinking. think about that time you chose your light; just let your feelings guide you.” his voice is kind, and akaashi nods, trying to internalise the feeling. he closes his eyes, counts to one, two, three. when akaashi opens them again, it’s with a calmer heart.

there are dozens of glass jars floating and akaashi reads every single label on them — dry lavender, fluorescent stars, whiskey on rocks. there are smells and tastes and sensations and so much more, music and colors and feelings. akaashi is overwhelmed, but it is a good kind of overwhelmed; the one where all emotions feel comforting rather than corrosive.

“i like this one.” he shyly points to the jar titled the smell of rain on grass, and then to the one that has greek prose. ”and this one, too.”

“these are all good! keep going, akaashi.”

akaashi smiles, satisfied, and goes on. he likes the praise.

“walking barefoot. the tartness of strawberries. all shades of pink.” he reads each one aloud, observing the movements bokuto does to add them into the cauldron. “plum wine, flower festivals and — maybe the moment just before the sun rises?” he pauses, finished. “i think that’s it. it feels right. is it right?”

“it’s always right.” bokuto answers him, and with a comical flourish of his hands, the floating ingredients go back to their respective places, the mess in the living room a little bit less catastrophic. “can you get me one of the glass bottles over there?”

bokuto reaches inside the cauldron with his hand. everything glows and the entire living room is suddenly painted with an aurora of shades, glowing lilac to indigo to gold, and bokuto grins, wide and youthful and free.

akaashi waits for bokuto, who steps down from the table, extending his hands to slip whatever he took from the cauldron inside the jar. it takes a moment, but akaashi can finally see what bokuto took from the swirling liquid; it’s a small flower, just a little bud, closed petals glimmering white under the afternoon light. the blossom slides into the jar with ease and rests at the bottom, quiet and alone.

“it’s done. you made a season, akaashi.”

eight months since meeting bokuto, akaashi holds spring in his hands. right now, in this time of the year, is a nimble thing; it’s a small flower in a mason jar. but with the right time and care, it will grow and travel through the wind, soaking up the rest of winter, painting the city with different shades of beginnings.

“it’s so pretty.” akaashi’s voice is barely sound, but bokuto listens. bokuto always listens. “it feels scary to hold it.“

“you shouldn’t be scared.”

“why?”

“because you have kind hands, akaashi.” bokuto looks at him, and his smile isn’t bright or broad or big. it’s small and gentle, like he’s confessing a secret; akaashi wants to hold it in his hands too. “they are perfect. just the right size of kind.”

they look at each other, and akaashi can see his eyes so clearly — can see the specks of gold, the glittering yellow. the spiderweb shadows bokuto’s eyelashes paint over his cheekbones.

he wants so badly to kiss him.

god, if only.

“you know,” he puts the spring jar over the table and grabs bokuto’s hands, holding them inside his palms. akaashi’s voice fails a bit; his chest feels a bit restricted, his skin kind of feverish, his thoughts too tangled to make sense. but he goes on. he doesn't know why, but he goes on. “yours are also perfect.”

(somewhere around the house, his light flickers, just a little bit, just enough. just the right amount to announce the start. it’s not spring yet - not even winter. but there it is. warm and gold. the beginning of something. change.)

☆

akaashi opens the door and is hit with darkness.

there’s nothing except cold, nothing except dark blue shadows and air as sharp as a knife. bokuto’s work room is a place akaashi has always associated with brightness and warmth; but instead of entering and finding dozens of floating jars inside, he’s met with barely nothing. there’s only one source of light: a flickering lamp in the corner of the room, burning cyan-white, illuminating bokuto’s profile like lightning bolts in a thunderstorm.

“bokuto?”

there’s an echo, as if akaashi is inside an underwater cave instead of a cottage, but aside from that - nothing. no answer, just bokuto laying down on the floor, face up and eyes closed.

akaashi's gets closer, steps as light as feathers. his own personal light floats in front of him, helping akaashi see where he is going. it stops right in front of bokuto, and it lands on the center of his chest. she illuminates all of bokuto’s face and it feels all wrong, so wrong, to see his mouth curved down, to see his eyes so unpleased.

“bokuto?” akaashi asks again, but this time his tone is firmer. “what is wrong?”

“i’ve forgotten.”

akaashi’s blood runs cold.

“forgotten what?”

“how to make lights. it’s all - it’s all going wrong, and i need to get them perfectly done for the next people, otherwise i won’t be able to help them. but what if i can’t? what if this is it, and my career is over, and i can’t do magic anymore —”

“wait, bokuto. hey.” akaashi interrupts him, kneeling next to where bokuto is laying down. “i think you are getting a bit ahead of yourself. you do amazing work, you have always done. an off day says nothing about who you are as a witch.”

“but i can’t do it today. and i really want to have the best lights for my clients.”

“but you do, bokuto. the best lights are the ones you can do, because no one else can do it like you.”

silence. wind shifts the window curtains for a moment, and blue light melts into the room briefly, illuminating everything into a thousand different shades of sapphire - like they are at an aquarium or standing underwater.

bokuto sits up and looks at akaashi, so small, so quiet.

“what if i can’t help them?”

“you will help them. but not like this. it’s no good for your brain to suffer in the dark of this room.”

he grunts in response. akaashi takes his hands.

“c’mon. let’s do it like this: i’m gonna draw you a bath with all those fancy salts in the bathroom and prepare some tea. after that we can think about this problem together in here. how does that sound?”

another grunt, but this time - the shadow of a smile.

“let’s go, big guy.”

☆

when akaashi comes back to the room - a wood tray filled with the promised tea and some snacks - bokuto is laying down again, but this time in a pile of blankets that weren’t there before.

he’s resting down all curled up, eyes half closed, and his whole body burns bright gold right in front of akaashi. the place is still dark, yes, but now the curtains are drawn open and there’s a certain slant of light illuminating him from the window, and he’s all warm honey and gold, all beautiful and soft and things that still surprises akaashi.

“akaashi, come here.” his voice is soft and sleepy and everything akaashi doesn’t know from him, not yet. it pains his heart in the worst way.

“i made you some green tea and found some wagashi in the fridge.”

akaashi walks towards bokuto and sits down right in front of him, putting the wooden tray by their side. bokuto smiles, eyes closed, and akaashi mirrors him.

“are you feeling better?”

“the bath helped,” he answers, looking up at akaashi. his hair is slightly wet, dripping all over his shoulders. “i think i just needed to distance myself from this room. to think a little less. it’s been a while since i’ve had an insecure episode.”

“i didn’t know you could get like this.” akaashi corrects himself. “insecure, i mean.”

“it used to be really bad, so kuroo helped me a lot. but i hate being a burden, so i’ve been working on just being normal me for a while.” he pauses, looking at akaashi, hair curling over his ears. he looks innocent like this; akaashi feels oddly protective. “it doesn’t matter if you’re a witch or human, there’s always moments of doubt, right?”

“i don’t think we have the same definitions for normal.” akaashi laughs. “but yes, i think we all have our moments. it’s a bit hypocritical of me to say this, since i am an over thinker, but it’s important not to succumb to them. and if you do, ask for help. it’s not being a burden. not to any of us. not to me.”

bokuto’s hand reaches for akaashi’s face, palm resting over his cheeks. his touch is warm against akaashi’s skin, and akaashi blushes, bright red and timid.

“thank you.” bokuto smiles, and _oh_. “for your words and advice. i hope you know how much they helped.”

_oh._

akaashi closes his eyes, feeling bokuto’s thumb stroking his cheek, a touch he can feel all over. he knows this feeling. he has never felt it. didn’t think he could, actually. not with the distance he kept from people. but - there it was, defying everything he believed.

and bokuto.

bokuto, who is all sources of light imaginable compressed into one: fireworks, a bathroom lightbulb, a children’s nightlight, the stars, a candle, a fire torch, the sun. he’s all light and he’s weightless like gas, and maybe that’s the reason akaashi fell in love: there’s nothing about bokuto that weights him down. he just lifts him up.

akaashi doesn’t know how it happened, how he did it. how he fell in love with bokuto so silently, so quietly it didn’t feel unnatural at all. how bokuto grew under his skin until there was so much light it threatened to burst out of him.

but now, there it was: bokuto. bokuto and his laugh and beautiful eyes and bright, bright grin. bokuto and his kooky ideas and kind touch and tender magic.

he opens his eyes, and bokuto is looking at him in that way of his. like all of his attention is devoted to akaashi. like there’s nothing that could take him out of this moment, right here, right now.

“bokuto, i -”

“yes?”

the room is dark and silent, illuminated by only that slant of light; but akaashi can hear his own heartbeat, can hear both of theirs. and it’s loud. just like a thunderstorm.

he’s brave.

“would you kiss me, if i asked?”

bokuto smiles, holding him with tenderness, cupping his jaw. he looks at akaashi, directly at his eyes. he nuzzles at akaashi, noses and mouth brushing, and it’s agonising, the wait. time so slow they may as well be immortal. space so little they may as well be one.

bokuto doesn’t crash into him, but he kisses with bruising intensity; their mouths are hard against each other, and bokuto grabs him at his edges. akaashi touches bokuto’s hands, his arms, his shoulders; touches his everywhere, fingers gliding across his chest and back at his hair, pulling a little bit. bokuto makes a small noise, so little akaashi almost misses and both of them smile into the kiss, fluttering mirrored hearts.

they kiss and akaashi feels like his insides are blurry and the world is hazy and this is the best sensation he has ever felt, right here, right now. this is the best place he has ever been, kissing bokuto over a pile of blankets in the dark of a room, four in the afternoon with the sun painting their bodies, just a stroke of light.

bokuto tastes a little bit like honey and lavender, a little bit like summer; and akaashi feels like he’s helium, breathless and floating, feels held and bruised but so, so light.

akaashi pulls away from him, opening his eyes, and bokuto follows, still trying to kiss him. akaashi laughs, fondness coating his body from head to toe, and rests his forehead against bokuto’s. he smiles, content, nervous, everything at once.

“this was nice.” akaashi manages to mutter, voice failing.

“is it already over?” bokuto pouts. “akaashi -”

akaashi kisses him again, and again, and again.

the tea goes cold.

☆

that night, akaashi is anxious. the feeling of euphoria from kissing bokuto is long gone - the warmth of it, the cloud-like sensation of floating a little bit above the ground - and dread sinks deep in his bones, pulling him into a sea of anxiety.

he goes to sleep with his light in his arms, cradling her against his chest, trying to absorb her warmth and brightness. still, it doesn’t help and he dreams of saying goodbye to bokuto, dreams of bad memories, of abandonment, of things that happened to him once and would eventually happen to him again.

dreams of never being able to say goodbye at all.

☆

akaashi wakes up way too early.

the sun still hasn’t risen completely and his house is filled with faint blue light and cold air; there is dust all over, glittering white against the sunlight. it’s beautiful and dizzying, like a scene from a movie, and akaashi spends a couple of minutes peering at it, gathering enough energy to get up from bed and face his fate.

(he tries looking around, but his light is nowhere to be found. anxiety crawls all over his bones, like a parasite that doesn’t want to let go.)

he makes himself get up from the bed, take a shower, prepare a cup of tea; it’s a painfully slow process and his hands shake while he waits for the water to boil. he can’t seem to gather the courage to look out for the cottage - until something shines in the corner of his eyes, and maybe it’s his light and maybe it isn’t, but he can’t hold it in anymore. akaashi runs up to the window, looking at the small street view -

and it’s still there.

he still has time.

he breathes a little easier, but the adrenaline is still running through his veins; akaashi gets ready too fast during the early morning, ending up fully dressed barely before six.

so he goes to the bakery nearby to fill some time, maybe buy that loaf of _shokupan_ that bokuto likes, a slice of pie for kenma. kuroo wasn’t getting any gifts; he had been annoying the day before, sending akaashi knowing looks and teasing him with his dancing eyebrows right before they said their goodbyes for the day.

akaashi knew it was his way of saying _i know what’s going on, and it’s good, isn’t it_. but he was still - he is still insecure about it, and kuroo would need to deal with his weak passive aggressiveness of not getting a warm baked good.

akaashi is the first customer at the bakery, morning air so cold the tip of his fingers are a little bit pink, smells so good he gets increasingly hungry. the place is familiar and homey, the old lady at the counter kind, and akaashi enjoys a little bit of anpan while waiting for his order to be packed.

☆

akaashi enters the cottage wearing only socks, tiptoeing in silence and making his way to the kitchen. he’s eager to set the table and prepare their breakfast - eager to spend the day with his friends, to enjoy his time with them.

the pie sits on the center of the table, but akaashi still has a lot of time to kill - still has a couple of hours until the boys rise, or at least until kuroo and bokuto do, since kenma is fond of sleeping throughout the day. so he takes his time preparing the tofu and miso soup, seasoning some fish to grill, and enjoys the silence and cold air while he can.

the world and house start waking up, bit by bit. he can hear the sound of birds from outside, the scent of fresh, magical peaches, can feel the sun touching every corner of the house, a blanket of light; eventually akaashi turns the stove off and leaves the table set, deciding to go to the living room to wait for the boys to wake up, do a bit of reading, perhaps explore the cottage a bit more.

but as he looks for chaos in the living room, akaashi finds stillness. there are no magical ingredients floating, no oranges hanging from the ceiling, no mystical candles burning bright. all three of them - kuroo and kenma and bokuto - are fast asleep on the couch, bodies and limbs tangled. bokuto holds both of their hands and kenma’s head rests over kuroo’s shoulder, his face half hidden from view.

the vision swells his heart up with affection; they look innocent and young and unassuming, not the powerful and important witches akaashi knows they are. akaashi knows that future him will look back at this memory and swim in it, recall the scene so many times it will turn a little bit yellow, warm tinted and soft, like an old photograph you’ve taken out of the box too many times.

and it’s stupid, but the epiphany comes there. not during a conversation with osamu, not while he listens to bokuto rambling, not when kuroo sends him knowing glances - but when he sees some drool falling all over bokuto’s shirt, and he thinks _shit, i don’t want any of this stained by our endings._

he doesn’t want his magical memories to be like his past ones, good and bad attached to each other like a lifeline. even if he closes his eyes and tries to recall childhood happiness, it all goes wrong: akaashi at four and five years of age, learning how to read the clock with his grandmother — him at six years old, crying at her funeral. his mother and father laughing at cherry blossoms festival, each of them holding one of his hands, and one year later them screaming at each other, a full suitcase at the door. him at fifteen, trying his best at making friends at school, popsicles staining his clothes during warm days, promises of forever sealed with spit-covered hands — only to be forgotten after graduating.

all of those memories, which are hurt, but which are love, too.

and akaashi gets it.

he gets what osamu has been trying to say all these years, what bokuto has been saying all along; he wants these memories to be heavy with affection, filled with tenderness and love. doesn’t want to regret meeting them, because regretting is saying _i would not do this again if i had the choice_ , and how could akaashi choose something else? how could he choose any other universe where he doesn’t laugh with kuroo, doesn’t learn with kenma, doesn’t love with bokuto?

he can’t choose something else. he doesn’t want to choose something else.

so he chooses to accept this.

akaashi’s light appears in the corner of his vision, floating lower and lower until it rests on his shoulder, tired from carrying so much burden. for the first time ever since meeting her, he can physically feel some of her brightness dimming down, and he observes her until she’s just a speckle of shine, until she’s translucent and delicate.

and akaashi - he doesn’t want to say goodbye, doesn’t want to have a last anything with them. but he’s not afraid either; he will get to enjoy what time he has left there. he will say his goodbyes without any burdens, smile and never regret his time with them. he will be happy, and they will be happy.

and there’s that.

akaashi looks at them again, caring, fond, tender; decides to sit down right next to them, and already knowing he’s falling asleep, closes his eyes.

☆

they spend the day like they’ve always done.

they all know it’s coming to an end; akaashi doesn’t bother hiding from them, and his light is barely visible as it is, so translucent that he needs to focus to see her.

but it’s a good day - filled with laughter and casual touching, kuroo’s magic floating away, bokuto’s hands on his waist, messy dancing in the living room. even kenma - who usually takes afternoon naps - joins them, and akaashi laughs, laughs like he has never laughed before in his life.

“you!” bokuto points at akaashi, and the air is hazy, an aurora of milky colors and light. his voice trembles a bit, like he’s drunk on something. “you are the best customer i’ve ever had, akaashi!”

he spins akaashi around, and then bumps into a table and falls down on the floor, and they are all laughing, and it’s ridiculous, but -

somehow seeing bokuto like this takes akaashi back to their first meeting, so many months back, with all those floating lights, static present on every atom in the room. pale blue and pink and yellow all around, reflections of how everything seemed to burn bright in his presence. he thought bokuto was so much larger than life; something so big and broad he would never truly comprehend. but that image is now blurred around its edges, mixed with the one he has come to know all these months: someone kind and gentle and selfless. and akaashi can see bokuto for who he is now: a person. just a person.

and how being just a person is magnificent on it’s own.

akaashi looks right into bokuto’s shockingly hazel eyes, so clear, so open. he extends a hand and helps bokuto up, pulling him close, pulling him until their noses touch.

both of them exhale at the same time, breathings synchronised, and this is one of the things akaashi has concluded: even during goodbyes, there’s not an atom in their bodies that don’t match.

“akaashi, i -“ bokuto whispers, half air half voice. so small he doubts even the house can listen. “can i kiss you?”

akaashi closes his eyes, overwhelmed. he doesn’t think he can bear looking at bokuto like this, with so much feeling inside his chest. if he opens them, all his tenderness will pour out from his gaze. but he does. he does.

he does.

akaashi looks at bokuto, and he’s a hospital siren, red light spinning around. he’s hard noise wanting to be noticed. a bird taking flight. an emergency waiting to be kissed.

so he kisses him.

and that’s the best goodbye he has ever had.

☆

akaashi leaves the cottage with a bag of magical ingredients - pink lavender and orange rosemary, dragonfruit extract and dryad oils. bokuto insists he will need them in his future; for him, it doesn't matter that akaashi lived until his mid twenties with no magical contact. akaashi accepts it more for bokuto than himself.

kuroo and kenma wait for him at the porch, both of their expressions somber, and it feels a little bit funny to akaashi that he is the one that’s comforting them, hugging kuroo and squeezing kenma’s hand, saying his goodbyes and thank yous in the gentlest voice he can manage.

“i mean it, you know.” akaashi tells them, looking at the ground, shy. “you both and this house - not only bokuto. you made me grow attached. do you know how hard that is?”

“i think we got an idea.” kuroo laughs. “it took you almost one year for that to happen.”

“no, i - “ akaashi tries. he is embarrassed, but he owes them this much. “i’ve loved all of you for a while now. but the light wasn’t about that. i think it was about accepting that i care.”

“we could have told you that a while ago.” kenma adds, and they all laugh, and there’s something stuck in akaashi’s throat.

bokuto steps forward, and they look at each other without touching until akaashi slowly takes bokuto into his arms. he holds him there, hugs him as fiercely as he can, love and tenderness melting in between their bodies.

“you are a very beautiful human - you know that, right, akaashi?” bokuto whispers by his ear, voice wobbling. “your heart; your heart is filled with so many beautiful things. and you know what? sometimes i wish i had a light. sometimes i wish my light was you.”

akaashi holds bokuto tighter, squeezes him with all the strength he has, unable to reply with words. his mouth is thick with the weight of love; if he answers, he will cry.

for the past year, akaashi’s reality has been never ending tectonic plates: one layer of reality, twenty thousand layers of magic. there were emotions and wonder and everything in between, all of it shifting around, creating new memories. memories that are pretty landscapes. memories that he will keep for his entire lifetime.

but he needs to let go, and this is the time.

akaashi takes a couple of steps forward into the street; the sun blinds him for a moment, bright and clear. looking around feels different, despite being the same as it has ever been. he turns around, waving goodbye to his friends, to bokuto -

and they wave back, but something about them -

translucent, diaphanous, gleaming under the sunlight but still not quite visible -

“i love you!” akaashi screams, crying, happy, sad, everything in between. “i love you!”

they wave back, and akaashi can’t quite see it but he thinks bokuto is saying something, but akaashi can’t hear it -

but he knows. he knows.

he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prologue is on the next chapter ♡


	3. scintilla

it’s the middle of the night, and akaashi can’t sleep.

there’s a book on his bedside table, the novel he should be reading for osamu’s club. it lays open, a pencil resting over the last page he read, words stained with coffee spots. it’s a good book; he will have to thank sakusa for the suggestion later.

there’s a rush of wind from outside, messing up the pages, and akaashi feels a chill run down his spine. it’s not summer anymore - and as much as he likes fresh air, the breezes are beginning to be on the wrong side of cold, painting braille all over his skin. so he gets up from the bed to close the window, pale blue shadows following each of his footsteps, light timidly touching his body.

akaashi looks out, and with surprise, notices it’s raining. 

it’s the kind of rain that leaves everything sort of milky and blurred, gray around the edges. he stays still, observing everything outside; the water licks the asphalt, falls like a veil over the buildings, a blanket of wet sorrow, the kind of feeling you only get at two in the morning when you’re sleepless and awake with memory. there’s the bakery, the new stationary store, the vintage house that sells dozens of trinkets and, right across the street, being bathed by pouring rain - a cottage.

a cottage.

at first, akaashi thinks he’s hallucinating; blinks once, twice, looks out of the window again, but there it is -

a medieval house, barely to be seen; built with butterscotch coloured bricks and hanging lavender flowers, probably smelling like fresh pastries and warm coffee.

there’s a knock on his door. akaashi spends too much time looking at the entrance of his apartment, paralysed by thought, until he hears it - the sound of bells. beautiful little bells, like laughter, like feeling.

his hands tremble.

“akaashi?”

it’s the middle of the night, probably too late for anyone to be awake. everything is dark and quiet and still, but there are bells in the wind and a familiar voice outside and akaashi has never loved sound more, has never loved insomnia and rain this much.

he opens the door, and - 

bokuto stands on his front porch, dripping wet from head to toe.

“you -”

he looks at akaashi, eyes the most beautiful cadmium yellow, and smiles, so slow, like the beginning of something. like he has all the time in the world.

“i have a light.” he begins, and forget bells. forget the rain, forget the storm brewing outside. “and she brought me here.”

he has bokuto right here, right now. 

and that’s all it matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is finally finished and i am the happiest. i think i grew a lot while writing it, and that was thanks to my wonderful beta [maya](https://twitter.com/screm_today). if there are any errors/inconsistencies, it’s not because she didn’t point it out - but rather because i sprained my wrist the day after i submitted her my final draft, and fixing thing meant a lot of work that would strain my hand (there are times i literally wrote with text to speech i am not kidding…) so i said coherency? no ♡
> 
> also… check out this amazing art from [blu](https://twitter.com/tiniiblu/status/1287853960469065728). they have their commissions open and make amazing art!!
> 
> i hope u guys enjoyed my little story… it has a ton of flaws, but this came from my heart. if you want to talk to me, i have a [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/snowlighters) and a newly created [ cc ](https://curiouscat.qa/snowlighters)!!


End file.
